


Away to the Water

by eyemeohmy



Series: Sparkeater Froid AU [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Darkfic, Gen, Mild Gore, SHIT IS SAD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rung notices Froid's growing injuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Away to the Water

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Metamorphosis and A Nice Day For Revenge. Just gonna make a tag for this AU, yeah...
> 
> Musical inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Uq-awEc_-Y

Rung had been so flooded with work the past week, he only just now noticed Froid’s peculiar limp.

Right arm. It was almost unnoticeable. But as the cybervore crossed the room, Rung could see a distinct beat in between each step forward. His shoulder did not roll naturally, but rather seemed to hitch, stiffening briefly before touching down.

Rung frowned. “And just how long has this been going on?” he asked.

It took Froid’s mind a moment to process what he was referring to. It was amazing he even pieced it together in the first place. But then he was glancing at his right hand, only to settle down and stare back at Rung impassively.

Rung set the kettle aside. “Let me see,” he ordered, gesturing him over.

Froid was hesitant at first–odd–but eventually finished crawling over. His tentacles swayed as they usually did, but one dragged behind along the floor.

Rung was concerned. He did not think too much on the irony of that. Rung knelt, and Froid sat before him. He offered his right hand, and Rung turned it over in his small fingers, searching for any visible wound. Nothing. He gave each of the cybervore’s claws experimental tugs–nothing too hard; it wouldn’t take much to elicit a reaction. But Froid did not respond.

The problem didn’t lie in his fingers, then. Rung pressed his thumb against the underside of Froid’s wrist, just below the heel of his palm. Froid grunted and nearly yanked his hand free.

Ah, there it was. Rung pulled it back, turning his hand over. He parted his wrist seam–much to the monster’s chagrin–and spotted what looked to be thin shavings from a frayed circuit. Or actuator tendon. “Oh, dear,” Rung tsked, letting the hand go. “When did this happen?”

Of course Rung was mostly humoring himself. He walked around the sitting cybervore, checking the base of the limp tentacle. Nothing. He dragged his fingers down its segmented length before–Rung blinked. He rolled the tentacle over, touching the edge of a long gash. A few inches in length, but nothing too deep. It looked a few days old, too.

“Did you get this during your last meal?” Rung asked, referring to the unlucky Decepticon whose ember Froid had wrenched out a while back. Not before aforementioned Decepticon put up something of a fight. More a struggle with some flailing. As Rung recalled, he hadn’t dealt any real damage–his fist grazed Froid’s chin once, he got him in the gut twice, but hardly anything that would phase the cybervore. And obviously–as Rung double-checked now–nothing was wrong with his chin and abdomen.

Froid hissed softly, watching Rung.

Rung stood, stroking his chin. “I suppose I should call Ratchet,” he stated. Froid growled. “Oh, come now. He’s not so bad. At least when I’m around.”

Froid exvented.

“But I suppose they’re nothing a few more days and your nanites can’t heal,” Rung chuckled. Froid was off the hook–for now. He didn’t look too relieved, however. “Don’t put too much pressure on your right hand until then.”

Froid looked like he understood… a little, at least. Even if he didn’t, Froid would soon put two and two together and realize walking on right hand equaled pain, and so he’d stop. The tentacle would just have to continue dragging; at least the wound was healing.

Rung turned to the stove and gathered the kettle. “No ember for tonight, I’m afraid,” he explained. He poured a cube and placed it on the floor in front of Froid. Froid glared hatefully at the plain energon. “You’ll have to make due with this for now.”

Froid lapped up the energon–finished half of it before retreating back to the berth. He laid down on the floor, curling up on his side, tentacles wrapping around him.

Rung didn’t think much of it. Froid recharged a lot, especially after a good meal. Rung turned back to the stove, making himself something to drink.

—

The noise was just loud enough to pull Rung out of sleep.

Rung’s optics cracked open, his vision clearing. He laid there in the dark, listening to… It sounded like something steely and hard being dragged along metal. Or metal bending. A low whine that would have hurt his audiols if it were any louder. As such, it was more so annoying than ear-piercing. In between these small screeches and crunches, a distinct wet growl that Rung knew all too well.

“Froid?” Rung grumbled. He sat up, rubbing his optics. He plucked his glasses from the nightstand, sliding them on. When he looked up, he could see Froid at the foot of the berth, on his side, naked backstrut curled and exposed to Rung. His head was bobbing, moving, and the noises continued.

Rung sat forward. He went to say Froid’s name again, paused. Instead, he inched over, just enough to look over Froid’s shoulder and see what he was doing.

Making a mess of his left forearm, it seemed. He’d chewed through armor and dermal plating, leaving them in chunks. He’d gotten down to actuator and hydraulic cables, tearing into them as well. Energon spilled in thin lines from the gaping, jagged wound, forming a dark puddle. The outer edges were starting to congeal–Froid had been chewing on his arm for a while now.

Froid finally realized he was being watched. He raised his head, looking up at Rung–his yellow optics glowed bright in the darkness.

Rung placed a hand over his mouth. “How… utterly fascinating.”

—

“He’s probably just hungry.”

Rung watched as Ratchet finished patching up Froid’s arm. The cybervore was heavily drugged, incapable of even lifting his head. It was less for Ratchet’s safety and more to stop him from struggling and pissing the CMO off.

“Noted, but you're wrong,” Rung said, leaning against the doorway. Ratchet glanced up at him, confused and a little annoyed.

Ratchet sneered. “Fine,” he said, going back to work, “then, O Enlightened One, why was he chewing up his arm after not eating properly the past week?”

“He’s depressed.”

Ratchet chuckled. “I wonder why.”

Rung stroked a finger beneath his chin. “It’s interesting,” he said, “for the past few months, he’s shown no symptoms of depression. But it’s obvious he’s been inflicting all these wounds on himself. His wrist, his tentacle–-now this.”

“The only reason an animal would be depressed is if they’re hungry.”

“Not so,” Rung smirked. “Even inferior species have an array of emotions. Base as they are, they can still feel sadness. Anger. Everything you and I feel.”

Ratchet huffed. “So, if it’s not hunger pains…?”

Rung spread his arms. “Isn’t it obvious?” he laughed softly. “It seems my dear rival’s not as dead as I expected. In fact, he might even be regaining memories once thought to be lost or deleted. It’s possible he’s becoming self-aware. It’s possible he even remembers what happened to him. What he used to be.” Rung turned his gaze on Froid, the lenses of his glasses flashing. “And the reality of his situation has finally caught up to him.”

“So you’ve got a suicidal cybervore,” Ratchet grumbled. “What treatment do you recommend, Mister Therapist?”

“Nothing,” Rung explained. “It’s much more interesting this way. It might just be a phase; he might forget everything in a few days to a couple hours. I’d like to see how this plays out.”

“Even if it means he might succeed?”

Rung chuckled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

—

Rung kept close observation on Froid. He did not punish the cybervore’s misbehavior. He did not even address it. In fact, as the days passed, Froid attempted to injure himself three more times. Each time Rung had intervened–and each time, he stopped and sent him away. No yelling, no punishing–nothing.

Magnus had informed Rung almost a week later they had captured a few straggling Decepticons. One was in critical condition and useless, so Magnus offered to turn him over to Froid until he was finished with the others. Rung, however, turned the offer down, much to Magnus’s surprise. Froid didn’t even know.

Two weeks, two more attempts. Nothing changed. All but one of the Decepticons came and went, their embers going out with them.

Froid, having consumed nothing but mid-grade and bland formula, was having a hard time concentrating. He was hungry. He needed energy. He felt sluggish and tired and miserable, on top of everything else he was apparently going through. And yet, even at the mere idea of eating another person’s ember…

“He’s too weak,” Rung told the Autobot prison guard, “there’s no need to restrain him.”

The Autobot didn’t look too sure, but when Rung brought Froid out–limping, sagging, moving like molasses–he started to relax. The Decepticon prisoner didn’t, however, but he was too scared to even scream.

The ember called for Froid. He could hear it-–feel it, taste it, smell it. His senses started to spark, light returning to his optics. But when he looked at the Decepticon, that same light seemed to dim. Still, the heat emanating from his frame told Rung he was starving.

“You won’t turn back,” Rung stated, “not again.”

Froid’s breathing picked up; his chest rose and fell heavily. Wheezing; _rrrr-hiss_. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the Decepticon’s chest. The ember’s pulses felt like thuds in his audiols. Froid was sick and excited all at once.

“But,” Rung stated, squatting beside him. He placed a hand on Froid’s back. “The fall won’t be as long and hard as it was before. Still–how admirable, how far you’ve climbed out of the grave I dug for you. A minor setback, but never disappointing. A relapse was always a possibility.”

The Autobot guard looked confused.

Froid’s wheezing picked up, fluids rushing in his audiols. His vision started to blur. His pit of a stomach twisted and knotted.

Rung leaned in, whispered, “But, you have to admit–a story is always so much more interesting when a hero falls and rises again, only to fall a second time. Because it seems so unexpected, right? That’s not how the story is suppose to end. Good triumphs over evil. Even through all the darkness, you’ll always find a light. And how horribly twisted is it to find that light, to bask in its warmth, just to look down and realize you’re standing at the very end of the world. How far you’ve come–and how much you’ve failed–only to find your hard endeavors have led you to nothing.”

Rung gently ran the back of his knuckles down Froid’s spine. Froid’s engines revved and growled. He could hear what Rung was saying–he even understood him–and yet his attention still lingered on the Decepticon’s terrified ember.

“Redemption is overrated, and so little few ever achieve it. You knew before–-this world is weak. This universe is weak. And just because you struggle doesn’t mean you’re going to survive. Just because you fight back doesn’t mean you’re going to win.”

Rung hummed. “But what are you?” he asked, and Froid hiccuped. “You were smarter than the average mech; I’ve never denied that. So: how does this end? You know what you have to do to succeed. Just reach a little deeper–if you can do so without falling back in.”

Froid’s head spun. He recoiled, talons digging into his temples. He snarled furiously. Rung remained beside him, smiling calmly.

“Fight against the tides and the waves, or float on the surface, sink slowly beneath the tranquil waters.”

Froid whimpered. He opened his optics, wide and horrified at Rung.

“Prove me right.”

Froid snarled, spitting out coolant. He tore his claws into the ground, leaving behind thick grooves. The Decepticon choked on a sob. Froid raised his head, optics widening again. That wretched little sob, it had such a powerful effect on the ember pulsing harder and harder in his chassis–-

The Autobot guard gasped and stumbled back. The cybervore suddenly lunged, magnetically forcing the ember to the surface before ripping it out of the Decepticon’s chest. He closed his mouth around the glowing orb.

“What a good boy.” Rung walked over, bending down to pet Froid’s back. The cybervore ignored him, large tears of coolant falling from his optics as he miserably, hungrily tore and chewed on the ember.

—

Froid was tired. Very, very tired.

As was usual after every meal. An ember floated in his belly, and it would dissolve within a week or so. He laid curled up against Rung, resting his chin on the smaller bot’s chest. Rung idly stroked his neck and shoulders while reading.

Froid listened to Rung’s ember pulse regularly, softly. It sounded like a pleasant thump-thump beneath these still waters. The light from the surface had long disappeared; here, it was cold and dark and he was utterly alone.

There was no need to think down here. Froid couldn’t remember why he’d even want to. He couldn’t remember much of the light on the surface. And if he were to try reaching for it again, he’d only go blind.


End file.
